


Right, and a Good and Joyful Thing

by Comicbooklovergreen



Series: More than One Kind of Soulmate [8]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Carol (2015), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Angie has too many siblings, Carol is scared, Crossover, F/F, F/M, Multi, OT3, Period-Typical Homophobia, Polyamory, Psychological Trauma, Religion, Stegginelli
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-03 04:43:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12741234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comicbooklovergreen/pseuds/Comicbooklovergreen
Summary: An invitation to Jacob's baptism opens a window to Therese's past and reopens old wounds for Carol.Also, Steve, Peggy and Angie cannot do normal family things, in a normal people way.Two unconventional families form an unbreakable bond. Tracing a friendship and a family through the years.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was gonna wait to post this until it was done, but I have no self control. Comments are very much appreciated. Thanks to my Angstninja partner in crime, who makes sure these things are semi-coherent, and who made up for my lack of knowledge about Catholicism.

“They want us to what?”

Carol’s tone had Therese raising her eyebrows. “Jacob’s baptism. They invited us.”

“Why?”

“They’re our friends. He’s their baby.”

“They’re Catholic, Therese.”

“So am I, Carol.”

“You said that place was semi-religious. That’s what you said.”

“It was. It is. There were still nuns there.”

“Baby…they’re _Catholic_.”

“Episcopalian. And so am I.”

“What?”

“The school’s Episcopalian.”

“You never said that. You said semi-religious.”

“You’re being odd. You’re being bizarre, actually. Come on, it will be fun. We’ll see our friends, maybe have a nice lunch, let Rindy hang around with Lizzie. It’ll be nice.”

Carol stared at her.

“Or, we could build a homemade rocket and launch ourselves into the sun like the Russians are doing.”

“I like that plan better.”

“Carol?”

“Well, when is it?”

“Sunday.”

“This coming Sunday?”

“Yes.”

“We have something to do this Sunday.”

“We do not.”

“We do. We have plans with Abby.”

“We do not. You and I both know she likes the new mystery woman better than us.”

“She does not.”

“Carol?”

“We have plans.”

“We don’t.”

“We’ll make them.”

“Why would we do that?”

“They’re Catholic.”

“You mentioned.”

“We’re not. I’m not.”

“And? The church doesn’t immediately burst into flames if a non-Catholic steps into it.”

“You can’t be certain of that.”

“Why are you being like this? Wasn’t Rindy baptized?”

“Yes. She screamed bloody murder the entire time, threw up on the priest or minister or whatever—”

“Whatever? You’re calling a man of God a whatever?”

“—and Harge’s mother scowled at me the whole time for picking the wrong blanket to wrap her in.”

“Harge’s parents won’t be at Jacob’s baptism.”

“You can’t be certain of that.”

“Carol.”

“Therese.”

“If they show up, Angie’s family will chase them away.”

“Angie’s family is coming?”

“It’s their grandson’s baptism.”

“Oh God.”

“What?”

“You want to throw us straight into the path of the Italian Armada.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“We’re not going.”

“Of course we are.”

“We’ll go to the next one.”

“It’s one per child, Carol.”

“Exactly. One man, two women, and they’re all very fond of each other. There’ll be more children. We’ll go to the next one.”

“Or we can go to this one instead of being horrible and rude to some of our best friends.”

“Exactly. They’re our best friends. That gives us leeway to be horrible and rude sometimes and still be forgiven. How do you think Abby and I have managed all these years?”

“Carol.”

“Therese.”

Therese stood, then sat down again. In Carol’s lap.

“Carol? I want to go.”

“Then go, darling.” Carol sighed, slipped an arm around Therese. “Go, and have a lovely time.” She kissed Therese’s cheek.

“I want you to come with me.”

“No.”

“I’d have a much lovelier time with you.”

“No, Therese.”

“Please?” Therese trailed kisses over Carol’s throat. “Please come?”

Carol sighed again, exposing her neck and rubbing circles into Therese’s back. “I’m sure I could come anywhere with you, anywhere at all.” She cupped Therese’s breast through her shirt, teased it. “Except in a church.”

Therese laughed in a very un-ladylike way. Her fingers traced the side of Carol’s neck that her lips couldn’t reach, went lower. “Please?”

“You think I don’t know what you do? That whenever you don’t get your way, the first thing you do is make the same arguments from my lap?”

“Are they working better from here?”

“Not this time.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very.”

“Okay.” Therese teased her fingers over the top button of Carol’s blouse. “We’re going though.”

“We’re not.”

“We’re going.” She undid one button, then another.

“We are not going, Therese. You are free to go. Have a lovely time, and give my regards to the Italian Armada, but I will not be going.”

* * *

“Mama, you remember Carol and Therese?”

They were going. They were meeting at the Martinelli house first. It was packed with very large and very small Italians. Jacob was balanced against Sofia Martinelli, head resting on her shoulder, Sofia supporting him.

"Sì, le lesbiche."

Sofia grinned. Angie’s eyes went wide.

“Mama! Non puoi solo chiamarli lesbiche!"

"Le lesbiche sposate. Meglio?" The grin turned to one of complete innocence.

"Mama! Speak English with my friends, por favore? Or don't right now. You'll just embarrass me."

Carol looked at Therese. If it was enough to embarrass Angie, it was certainly enough to embarrass them.

Steve came by, dressed in a lovely dark suit and hauling a child under each arm. One of them was Lizzie, the other, Carol thought, Angie’s youngest brother. Born just a year before Rindy, something that terrified Carol for reasons she couldn’t explain.

“They’re not married,” Steve said, smiling at Carol and Therese while responding to whatever embarrassing thing Angie’s mother said.

“Do they live together? Do they share a baby? Married. Where’s the baby, by the way?”

Carol moved aside so Sofia could see Rindy, half-hiding between them. She wasn’t the shyest girl, but Rindy had only met the Martinelli clan a time or two. And those hadn’t included nearly as many people. Carol assumed some of the younger ones were Angie’s cousins. Unless Mrs. Martinelli had even more children than Carol knew about. This seemed a distinct possibility.

“Rindy!” Lizzie yelled, squirming in her father’s hold while Steve told her to calm down and continued to hold her several feet in the air.

“Hi,” Rindy said. Much quieter than usual, Carol thought, though that might be the constant roar surrounding them.

“Sweetheart,” said Therese, edging Rindy forward a little while keeping a hand on her shoulder, “you remember Mrs. Martinelli, right? Can you say hi?”

“Hi, Mrs. Martymelli,” Rindy said, a blush reddening her tiny cheeks.

Sofia’s laugh was all warmth. “Hi, pretty girl. That’s a beautiful dress you’re wearing.”

Rindy looked down at her church clothes, back up at Mrs. Martinelli. A smile pulled at her lips. “Thanks. My grandma got it for me. Are you Aunt Angie’s mommy?”

“That’s right.”

“Lizzie’s grandma?”

“Yeah, that’s Nonna,” Lizzie said impatiently. “Daddy, let me down!”

“That’s right,” Sofia repeated. “And Jacob’s grandma.” She kissed the baby’s head.

“You don’t look like a grandma.”

Sofia laughed, beamed. “I knew I liked this one. Even if her mama is late.”

The comment and the stare that came with it were teasing, but Carol fought a blush anyway. She shouldn’t be this affected by a woman not much older than herself.

“She’s Mommy,” Rindy said, getting over her shyness. “Mama wasn’t late.” She pointed to Therese. “Mama got up early and fixed my dress and made me breakfast.”

“Did she? That’s very good of her.”

Rindy nodded enthusiastically. “Mama and me were all ready to go. But Mama had to yell at Mommy a bunch of times and call her a slowpoke and yell at her some more.”

Carol tried not to squirm. She’d also tried playing dead this morning in the vain hope of escape. “We, had a long night,” Carol offered, feeling thoroughly pathetic.

Sofia nodded. “Pretty young wife like that, I’m sure you did.”

“Mama!”

Sofia paid Angie as much attention as she had before. “What?  Lesbiche.”

“Enough with the lesbiche, no more lesbiche!”

A voice loud enough to be heard over all the others drowned out whatever Mrs. Martinelli might’ve said next.

“There you are, you useless lesbian!”

Carol shared a startled glance with Therese. They were joined by a very tall man with brownish-blonde hair. He looked like Angie, more so than most people here, who also looked like Angie.

Angie rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t mean you. Be more specific, you idiot I’m not even a lesbian.” Angie reached over and squeezed Steve’s arm, the one holding Lizzie.

“You’ll always be a useless lesbian, just one that can’t make up her mind. Steve, you’re looking very handsome today.”

“Hey. Angelo.”

“Don’t ‘hey’ him.” Angie hit Steve’s arm. “Don’t smile at him. And you,” she glared at the man, Angelo, “you stole every toy I ever had, and you already got a guy. Leave mine alone.”

“Useless lesbian.”

“Pointless queer.”

They scowled at each other. Carol wasn’t sure who broke first, but suddenly they were hugging and laughing.

“Ladies,” Angie said, her arm around Angelo’s much larger frame, “this is my little brother, Angelo Jr. Don’t think you’ve met yet. Everyone’s luck runs out, huh?”

“Little brother,” he said mockingly.

“By ten minutes. Live with it.”

Angelo rolled his eyes. Mrs. Martinelli said something else in Italian then told them both to stop, they were both equally irritating on the way out.

“Uncle Angel, help!”

Angelo—Angel, regarded Lizzie. “Whatcha doing up there, tesoro?”

“Help!” Lizzie repeated.

“I don’t know, you look pretty comfy to me. What’s she doing up there anyway?”

“Not ruining her dress until after the ceremony,” Angie replied.

“Ah. Good luck with that.”

Angel was introduced to Carol and Therese, then Rindy. He knelt in front of Rindy, showed her a card trick that made her eyes widen.

“I never met you before,” Rindy said.

“Uncle Angel’s busy,” Lizzie said. “He flies planes for the Army.”

“Cool planes,” Angel corrected. “I fly cool planes, bambina. And I do it much better than your daddy here.”

“I was aiming for the ocean,” said Steve. “Landed just where I wanted.”

“Your name’s Angel?” Rindy asked.

“It is indeed.”

“Mommy calls Mama that. Mommy says she’s her angel.”

“Rindy,” Carol said, unable to muster any kind of rebuke.

“Oh yeah? That’s funny, isn’t it? I get called just the opposite.”

Sofia muttered something Carol had heard Angie use with Lizzie before. She thought it was the Italian form of ‘demon.’

“I know, Ma,” Angel said. “But not everyone means it as an insult.”

Angel winked and Angie rolled her eyes. “Where is Georgie anyway?”

“Meeting us at the church.”

That last word had Carol’s stomach fluttering unpleasantly, but she didn’t have much time to dwell on it.

“Daddy!” Lizzie yelled.

Steve sighed, checked his watch. “Will you be careful?”

“Yes!”

“Will you be good?”

“Yes!”

“No running.”

“No!”

Steve set her on her feet. She’d grabbed Rindy and run into the chaos of the rest of the house before Carol could really see what happened.

“She’s not going to be good,” Steve said.

“Nope, not at all,” said Angel.

Sofia waved them off. “Eh, we leave soon anyway.” She turned a scarily gleeful look on Carol, one that did not match the innocence of her tone. “Oh, by the way. Family tradition. Last to arrive gets to sit with Pietro.”

The other child Steve had been holding throughout the exchange waved, smiled a gap-tooth grin.

Carol should’ve done a better job pretending to be dead this morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! It was really great to see some new names in the comments section, besides the lovely people who usually stick by me and give feedback on this crazy 'verse. I've said it before, but comments really do help. Especially in a series like this with many entries and (hopefully) many more.
> 
> As of now, this one should be a three-shot. Hoping to post the last section in the next few days. Meantime, enjoy this part and please keep being awesome with your comments :)

It quickly became apparent why sitting next to Pietro was considered a punishment. The boy who’d been utterly silent while multiple conversations took place around him, wordless while Steve dangled him off the ground like a football, was not as quiet and introspective as he’d first seemed.

“Do you have any gum?”

Carol tried not to shift in the pew. Therese kept elbowing her and muttering at her for being too antsy, too loud. As if it was her fault. “Nope, sorry.”

Pietro looked crestfallen, went silent.

It wouldn’t last. Carol knew it would not last.

“Mama says I can’t have gum. She says I’ll blab too much and choke and turn blue.”

“Does she really?”

Carol did her best to keep her voice low and her body angled to the left. Someone behind them would periodically smack the back of Pietro’s head, presumably to stop the talking. Whoever it was also lacked Steve’s perfect eyesight.

“Do you like going to church?”

Carol was often asked if she ‘came here often,’ by various men in various settings, but this was a first. “I haven’t been in a long time.”

“How long? Were you little? Did they even have cars then, or did you have to walk to church?”

Carol took a breath and tried to focus on what was happening up front. Therese and Rindy were both being exceedingly attentive, though Carol doubted Rindy would be quite so well behaved if Lizzie were there. As it was, Lizzie was standing up front by Angie, both of them a few steps back from where the ceremony was taking place.

Therese had commented on the beauty of the old church, the stained glass windows in particular. She always saw more than Carol did, more beauty in the things Carol barely noticed. Particularly today.

“Do you have brothers and sisters?” Pietro asked. “All I got is brothers, except for Patrizia and Angie, and Angie doesn’t live here no more. Mostly I got brothers, and they’re annoying. I don’t like boys very much.”

“One sister. And I don’t like boys much either.”

“Angel likes boys. Angel likes Georgie most. I like Georgie too, he’s not annoying.”

‘Georgie’ was Jorge, Angie’s brother’s lover. They’d met briefly before taking their respective seats. Carol could see the back of his head now. He was Latin and small, especially when compared to Angel. He’d called Sofia Martinelli ‘Ma’ when he saw her, gotten a hug in return.

Besides Steve and Peggy, Dugan was standing up front. He’d replaced the Santa outfit Carol first saw him in with a real suit, and his bowler hat was gone. Carol couldn’t tell who was more disturbed by this, Dugan or Steve. She’d heard both express intense displeasure before things got started.

Dugan was set to be godfather, the woman next to him, holding Jacob, godmother. This it seemed was the famed Mrs. Dugan from Canada, though all Carol could really see of her was blonde hair and curves. Not that she would ever tell Therese about noticing the curves.

“That’s Betty,” Pietro said. “She’s Aunt Peggy’s best friend. She didn’t bring Kate though.”

“Who’s Kate?”

“Kate’s Betty’s best friend. She lives with Betty and uncle Dugan. They used to make things that blow up together, but now Kate doesn’t do that anymore.”

“Oh. Of course.”

She wouldn’t ask. She would not. At least not right now, with Therese elbowing her again.

Hard as she tried to pay attention to the words spoken by the priest, Carol found her eyes wandering just as much as her attention. There were an obscene amount of people here, even more than she’d noticed at the house. Scattered amongst Angie’s extended family were faces she recognized. Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis, Jim Morita and his family, all of whom she’d seen at Peggy’s belated Thanksgiving party. But there were also those she noticed for different reasons. People from newsreels and movie screens, and Carol would think she was making it all up if she hadn’t been in Peggy’s office that single time, seen the photographs on her walls.

She was still half-sure she was making it up, until two new faces, women, appeared in front, through some sort of side entrance Carol hadn’t noticed before, but Therese probably had.

Peggy turned as the newcomers approached. “You’re late,” she said, voice echoing off the high walls.

“The press, darling, the press!”

“You know how mother likes her entrances,” the second woman said. Her voice sounded vaguely familiar.

“You see?” said Mrs. Dugan. “This is why shared godmother duties are bull. _Some_ of us are far more dedicated than others.”

“Oh, hush, up, Agent.”

“Mother, be nice. Nice, not overwhelming.”

“Overwhelming would be the gift I’ve brought, not my own presence.”

“Your presence is always a pleasure,” said Peggy. “Your presents are another matter entirely.”

“You can’t still be upset over that engagement gift. You know as well as I do that this darling man was built for a corset.” Steve received a squeeze to the arm and a kiss on the cheek. “Now, let’s see that _gorgeous_ baby.”

Carol watched as the woman took Jacob from Mrs. Dugan while her daughter shook her head and found a seat.

“Carol?” Therese asked.

“Yes, darling.”

“Is, is that Marlene Dietrich?”

“Yes, darling, yes it is,” Carol said, feeling as shocked as Therese sounded. She tamped down the urge to poke Therese in the side. Of course it was okay to talk now that Therese had a question.

“Uncle Steve and Marnie helped during the war,” Pietro said enthusiastically. “They both did shows so the soldiers wouldn’t get sad but Uncle Steve wasn’t very good at it so Marnie helped him learn German and stuff and how to remember his lines.”

“Marnie?” Carol repeated.

Pietro nodded hard, grinning. “She’s kinda mad that Uncle Steve sold more war bonds than her. And Aunt Peggy’s kinda mad that Marnie’s daughter was on the Captain America radio show ‘cause Aunt Peggy says it’s trash. And Mama’s kinda mad that Marnie gets called the world’s prettiest grandmother instead of her.”

Carol looked at Pietro, looked at Therese. The boy reminded her of some of the women at her first deb parties, who seemed to know everything about everyone. Craning her neck to see Rindy next to Therese, Carol badly hoped her daughter wasn’t the wealth of information Pietro was.

She looked back at Therese. They both watched Marlene Dietrich fussing over their friend’s child.

For roughly the thousandth time, Carol wondered what her life had become since meeting these people.

* * *

Marlene and her daughter did not attend the gathering that came after, at the Carter-Rogers-Martinelli home. A frightening amount of people did, however, and Carol was very glad things hadn’t continued at the Martinelli house.

That many children should never be packed into such a small space.

Rindy was currently being chased by Patrizia Grace, Pietro’s twin sister. Two sets of twins in one family were another thing that terrified Carol for reasons she couldn’t express. Sofia though, Carol was more than a little awed. Carol liked for Rindy to think that she had eyes in the back of her head. Sofia didn’t appear to be bluffing it. She ordered two of her sons to stop trying to break into Peggy’s office before Carol even realized they were gone.

Carol also might’ve forgotten they existed in the first place, but really, there were a lot of children. Most of them had names ending in A or O, which simplified things a bit. Carol had been assured that if seeking the attention of someone specific, a pointed finger and a ‘hey you!’ was perfectly acceptable.

Therese was handling the whole thing better than Carol. She cited her childhood, growing up in that school constantly surrounded by kids.

“At least I don’t have to wait on these ones while wearing that silly hat,” she’d added.

“I liked that hat,” said Carol.

“You never had to wear it.”

Therese was busy taking photos while Angie cuddled Jacob, crooning to him over the noise.

“Oh my poor tesoro! Did those mean people get water on you? Poor Jakey.”

“It was your idea,” said Peggy.

“Shut up. He doesn’t know that, does he?”

“Charming.”

“Shut up, English, I’m busy being the favorite.”

“Until he’s hungry.”

“Shut up, English.”

There were more of Steve’s old squadron there than Carol first realized. The other man from Thanksgiving, Gabe, he was missing, but someone named Falsworth was arguing with Mrs. Dugan about a loan that went back to just before V-E Day.

This was _not_ the sort of function Carol attended while she was married.

“Carolina! I need hands. You have hands.”

True enough. “Coming, Sofia!” Carol yelled toward the kitchen.

She passed Therese on the way, actually got her to look away from her viewfinder.

“Carolina?” Therese repeated, in a terrible yet enticing accent.

Carol smiled at her, dodged a small child who nearly collided with her legs. “Don’t let any of these little goblins break that camera,” she said, toying with the camera strap. It would always be special, the first present she’d ever given Therese.

“Never.”

Joining Sofia in the kitchen, Carol helped her with the ungodly amount of food waiting there. She did not ask how Sofia had done this without a cook or a servant of some kind. She’d done that once before and learned her lesson.

As they chatted and Sofia put her to work, the noise from the other room grew louder. Angie and Angel’s voices were raised above the rest, and Carol took a moment to see what was going on. The siblings were apparently arguing over which of their boyfriends was a better dancer.

“Your spangled boy has nothing on Georgie. No offense, Steve.”

“Never any taken, Angelo.”

“Damn right,” Georgie said with a grin, his smaller frame tucked under Angel’s arm where they sat on the couch. “I’m a professional.”

Carol remembered hearing something about that during the mass of introductions, Angel’s lover worked as a line cook during the day and taught dance at night, in some part of New York Carol had never heard of.

“So is he!” Angie gestured dramatically at Steve. “How many war bonds did you sell, Steve?”

“Angie…”

“How many?”

Angel waved a hand. “Don’t mean a thing. Don’t make him a good dancer.”

“I agree,” said Steve, turning pink.

Angie made a rude noise and stood from the couch. “Nope. Up, up, up, I’m not losing to this twerp. Even if his guy is impossibly cute. Love you, Georgie.”

“Love you too.”

“Show him, Steve.”

“Peggy,” Steve said, pleading.

Peggy smirked at him from the other couch, holding Jacob. “What? I’m busy. The prince wants his meal.”

“Come on, Soldier,” Angie said, pulling at Steve’s arm. “Give the kid dinner and a show.”

“Yes, Steve,” said Angel. “Show us that tap dance thing, huh?”

Steve groaned, put a hand over his face. “We canned that bit after two cities, and I never wanted it to begin with, leave me alone.”

Angel and Angie went back and forth a few more times before Sofia yelled at them without looking up from her cooking. It devolved into a flurry of Italian and, Carol thought, Spanish, ending with Sofia admonishing her children to behave and stop shaming the family.

“Never have gay children, Carol.” Sofia’s words were grave as she waved Carol back to the counter. “They’ll turn you bald, and whatever hair you got left will go white.”

There wasn’t a stand of white in Sofia’s hair, and she certainly wasn’t lacking any. “Sofia,” Carol hadn’t meant to ask, it wasn’t proper, but since finding out about Angelo…

“Spit it out, Carol. And chop those veggies,” Sofia added, her voice mild. “Spit and chop, spit and chop.”

Carol hurriedly obeyed. “I just, you seem so, accepting, of Angel and Angie.”

“They’re gifts from God, not Macy’s. I can’t very well send them back, can I?”

Carol fumbled with the knife. “No, of course not. I—”

“Angie is right, you’re a fun one to play with.” Sofia took only the slightest pause before continuing. “They shared everything when they were inside. More than Pietro and Patrizia, everything the same.” She shrugged. “Maybe something got switched around. God gets bored one day, so He makes my daughter like girls and my boy like boys, so what? Though it was nice when Angie decided she liked boys too. Grandchildren, yes?”

“Sure.”

Sofia actually stopped what she was doing, stilled Carol’s hand on the knife. “You don’t understand,” she said, not asking.

“I…it’s not a common perspective.”

Sofia laughed at that, not the laugh Carol had heard all day.

“Most people disagree?” Sofia asked. “Most didn’t have their people in those camps. You go about your business and they come lock you up because you’re all spies for Mussolini.”

Carol said nothing. She hadn’t thought of it. Harge had gone off with all the other men and she’d stayed behind and watched the newsreels, but she never thought of this.

“My husband, my brothers, my cousins? My son? All off to fight the Nazis. Everyone has someone like that, but they still don’t see. People you love, they don’t come back, and everyone knows how sad that is. But they throw a fit when someone who does come back turns out to be a little different, instead of being happy they’re home and not in the ground? It’s nonsense.”

“Yes,” Carol said. She could hear Rindy and Patrizia laughing somewhere nearby. She’d been without Rindy all those months, but at least she’d known her daughter was safe, cared for. The alternative was sickening. “Yes it is.”

The moment broke when Angie yelled something obscene at Angel and accused him of stealing someone named Lorenzo from her.

“It’s not my fault he knew I was prettier than you! You should’ve gone for that other one, Moretti something. He had the funny eye, he wouldn’t have noticed.  Anyway, you have two now, why do you care? Stupid , greedy lesbian.”

“Backstabbing little queer boy.”

Sofia sighed and said something quiet in Italian that sounded like a prayer. “Never have gay children, Carol. Never.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. One more question?”

“Que?”

“Why nine children?” She hoped it was nine. All of them looked so similar. Like the little figures in Rindy’s drawings.

"My darling angel twins were a surprise, Marco, and Benny were prayed for, Rosario was my husband being sent off to war, Francesco was him coming home, Vittore was the anniversary of V-E Day, Pietro and Patrizia were my being convinced to try once more for one more baby, a girl again. Bookends. I wanted one more baby and God laughed. You know how it is.

“Sure,” Carol said, pretending that she knew, or had even the slightest idea.

* * *

 “Oh thank God!” said Carol, flopping onto their sofa. “Finally!”

Therese smiled as Rindy ran to her room after insisting she was a big girl and could change on her own. Jennifer Aird would be livid if she saw how wrinkled her granddaughter’s dress had become.

“It was fun,” Therese said, setting her camera on the table. “Wasn’t it fun?’

“Well sure it was fun. So is two weeks with Abby in the Hamptons. Doesn’t mean I can do it more than once a year.”

“Poor baby,” Therese teased, sitting next to Carol on the couch. “Really though, it wasn’t as bad as you thought?”

“It was better and worse than I could’ve possibly imagined,” Carol said, dragging an arm up over Therese’s shoulders. “But Angie’s family is lovely. Psychotic, but lovely.”

Therese hummed, rested her head against Carol’s shoulder. “What about the church?”

Carol cracked one eye after closing both. “Hmm?”

“Wasn’t it a lovely old building?”

“I suppose, as buildings go.”

“And the priest, he seemed nice, didn’t he?”

“Given what he had to put up with, I guess he was.” Carol’s words were slow, measured. “Why?”

Therese shrugged beneath Carol’s hand. “I’m just saying.”

“Oh.” Carol breathed, closed her eyes again.

“Carol?”

“Therese?”

“What if we went again next week?”

“Went where?” She would rest a minute, then have a drink, a reward. For surviving.

“To church, you know, for a real service. Just to see.”

Carol’s eyes popped open.

Now. She would fix that drink now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While things in this series are planned out to a certain extent, I'm always anxious to check out prompts, or just to hear from you guys. Hit me up on Tumblr if you're so inclined.
> 
> http://cblgblog.tumblr.com/


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I shouldn’t talk about fics being done in X amount of chapters. Every time I do that, they get longer. Three-shot will be a four-shot now because, reasons.
> 
> Book canon referenced a bit more heavily than usual here, along with my personal take on events. 
> 
> For those of you doing the Thanksgiving thing tomorrow, hope you enjoy it. Feel free to bombard me with comments to distract me from semi-torturous family interaction. Thanks again to all of you for sticking around through this series.

“If you don’t want to go, then don’t go.”

Carol rolled her eyes at the less than helpful advice, not that Angie could see it through the phone. “It’s important to Therese.”

“Then go.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Then don’t.”

“And Peggy says you’re good at advice.”

“Hey, I am a Tony awarding winning actress. When they did _Peter Pan f_ or TV? Record numbers. They’re doing it again in January. And I got a newborn and two spouses, and Lizzie. And my mother’s here. I don’t have the time to sit around spoon-feeding really obvious advice like I did in ‘46. Lizzie! Put that down right now or no run with daddy tomorrow!”

The last was said loudly enough for Carol to wince and hold the phone away. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Doesn’t matter at all to me that you hate my church and everyone in it, and would rather lay across the Lincoln Tunnel than go back.”

“I never said that.”

“I know. You’re way too easy, Jersey. You’d think it’d get boring, but it never does.”

“I’m glad I could entertain you.”

“Me too, doll. I’m always so busy entertaining everyone else. What’d Abby say?”

“The same thing you did, more or less. She also said she was with the mystery woman and not to call her unless it was a real emergency, or unless Harge died so they’d have an excuse to open more champagne.”

“Well, there you go then. Listen Jersey, I’ve got to run. The prince needs sustenance. I tell you, this kid likes sucking on Peg’s boobs almost as much as I do.”

“I didn’t know such a thing was possible,” Carol said. She could hear Jacob crying in the background.

“Said ‘almost,’ didn’t I? Hey, hang on a sec. Ma. Ma. Ma. Mama!”

“Que! What, what the hell do you want, bambina?”

“Carol used formula with Rindy. She only used formula. She has a little stroke every time Peg feeds the kid in front of her.”

Mrs. Martinelli’s voice came back from somewhere. “Most people have strokes when they see Peggy’s tette. Hi, Peggy.”

“Hello, Sofia.”

“No, really, Ma. Jersey formula-fed, the whole time.”

Carol heard a distant string of quickly spoken Italian.

"At one point Mama was nursing two babies, weaning two more while potty training one, and still had a full dinner on the table every night by 5:30, no exceptions."

"I... what?”

"Though to be fair that was easy after she spent two years nursing twins while working from home to help support the family."

"I--"

"Or when Papa shipped out and she had two under four, and a baby on the way. At least I was around for that though, all hands on deck and all."

“What are you doing, Angie?” Peggy’s voice this time.

“I’m tired and Carol called to complain about stupid stuff so I’m making the most of it.”

“Oh. Alright then."

"I've seen Mama nurse a baby while cooking dinner, helping a kid with his reading, and making sure the diapers were hung up to dry,” Angie said cheerfully. “Hang on, Carol, hang on. I’m putting her on the phone. Ask her about nursing.”

“No.” Carol nearly slammed the phone down right then.

“Oh, Angie likes to tease,” said Sofia. “I had them weaned by three, didn’t I?”

“A three-year-old, a two-year-old, and twin newborns, Carol. Without any nannies or governesses or whatever you crazy snobs do.”

Carol thought she might faint. She might’ve said so aloud.

"I had my babies weaned by age three, and toilet trained just after two, thank you. There's no need for horror."

"Mama, you'd walk around and do everyday stuff with a kid nursing."

"Like I had time to sit and cuddle whenever someone was hungry.” Sofia scoffed. “Laziness. No offense, Peggy.”

“Of course not, Sofia.”

“Jersey. Carol, Carol, you still there? English, I think I finally broke her!”

Angie was far too gleeful about that, Carol decided as she hung up the phone.

Pushing a stubborn stand of hair from her face, Carol took a breath and crossed the living room, down the hall. A glance showed Therese’s darkroom empty, so Carol continued on to their bedroom. Therese was there, on their bed, bent over a stack of photos in front of her. Carol knocked on the open door.

“Too busy for company?” she asked when Therese looked up.

Therese shook her head, smiled softly. “No. No deadline on these, I’m just checking through them.”

“May I see?”

“Sure.”

Crossing the small distance between them, Carol sat on the bed just behind Therese, studying the photos. There were more celebrities than she’d even realized at the church, people she had no business being in the same room with.

“Can you believe they asked me to do this?” Therese asks, grazing the edges of a photo with Peggy, Lizzie, Hedy Lemarr, and her, was it her fifth or sixth husband?

“Why wouldn’t they?”

 “You’re sweet.”

“And you’re good. Just as good as the Hollywood photographers.”

Therese made a noncommittal noise, turned her head to kiss the side of Carol’s mouth. “No. Someday maybe.”

Progress. Carol would take it. Her eyes fell on a photo of just the Martinellis. At least as many of them as would fit in one frame. They all looked impossibly happy, so unlike the staged, stilted portraits Carol had endured in the past.

“You did a magnificent job here,” Carol said, taking Therese’s hand and pointing out the photo. “You captured them. Beautifully.”

Therese laughed. “You can’t even tell one apart from the others.”

“That hardly means you didn’t capture them.”

They shared a chuckle and Therese squeezed Carol’s hand. She tugged lightly then and Carol let go, watched her gather the photos carefully. Therese asked for an envelope on the nightstand and Carol passed it over, watched as Therese slipped the pictures inside.

The envelope went back to it’s place. Carol shifted a bit, put her back against the pillows and gestured for Therese to join her.  Carol was relieved when Therese didn’t argue, just settled herself between Carol’s legs and leaned back.

Despite the more than comfortable position, Carol felt the lingering tension, the confusion. One of them had to break first.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Carol said.

“What for?”

“Not, not seeing church the way you do.”

“I don’t even, Carol, I don’t know how you see it. I don’t understand.”

She heard confusion, curiosity, not judgement. Carol’s stomach still made a knot. “How do you see it, Therese? You’ve never, it’s never been a part of you, not that I’ve seen.”

A fearful, traitorous part of Carol wondered if she’d missed something again, something that’d always been there. Like Therese telling her colleagues they were related. But Therese wouldn’t hide this. She’d have no reason to think Carol would react badly.

“It’s not. I mean it never was. I don’t know.”

“Take your time,” Carol said softly. Half in response to the frustration in Therese’s voice, half because after Therese finished talking, she would have to start.

“The school was, was semi-religious, like I told you. There were still nuns who took care of us. There was Sister Alicia.”

Sister Alicia. The one person Therese said always found her in the crowd of children, always saw her. Who Therese said she’d always been afraid to disappoint, because Sister Alicia’s opinion of her was the only one that mattered. She’d given Therese a pair of new gloves on her eighth birthday, her first at the school. Therese kept them in her locker at school and never wore them, thought they were too precious to risk damaging. By the time she tried, they were much too small.

Carol had heard that story and almost cried, and Therese called her ridiculous and said they were just gloves, and Carol didn’t have the heart to argue. She felt Therese tense up now and wrapped her arms tighter around her, but said nothing. Waited.

“She was devout. Obviously. Sometimes when there was time, I’d sit with her while she prayed.”

“And did you enjoy it?”

Therese shrugged. “No eight-year-old enjoys it. At least I didn’t. I didn’t understand. But I liked the quiet of it, when it was just us. There were usually so many others running around. I liked how peaceful it made her. How, how quietly happy. I wished I could have that feeling too, that calmness.”

“Did you find it? Did you, find it last week?”

“No. But I…”

Therese went still. Carol tamped down the urge to shift, make eye contact. Sometimes it was easier for Therese when Carol was close but not looking at her, not scrutinizing her. “You what, darling?” Carol asked, kissing the back of Therese’s neck.

“I used to think of her every day. More than once most days, I, I used to miss her so much.”

Sister Alicia had been reassigned somewhere in California before Therese left school. Therese was adamant that Sister Alicia hadn’t left her, that it wasn’t comparable to anything else that may’ve happened in her life. Carol still hurt for her. It hurt that she was one of those losses, those betrayals that Therese was so desperate not to lump her old mentor in with.

“Then I met you. And then Rindy, and Abby, and the girls and Steve. And I just, I stopped thinking so much about her, stopped remembering.”

“Therese,” Carol linked her hand with her lover’s, “you’re not forgetting her, you know, if that’s what scares you. You’d never forget her. Your life is fuller now than it used to be, but that’s not a betrayal.”

“I know,” Therese said and squeezed Carol’s fingers. “I do. I used to tell myself I was only very fond of her, adored her even, but that I didn’t love her. I suppose it was easier that way, if I didn’t have to admit…”

Carol said nothing. Didn’t say that it was such a Therese thing to do. Bury or downplay her feelings because she’d had no other way to cope, no one to help her for so long, and God, how unfair that was.

“I know she’d want me to be happy,” Therese said after a moment. “She’d be glad I had all of you. But I still feel like I drifted from her, in the last few years.”

“Until Sunday.”

“Yes. And it was nice, you know, being around Angie’s family. Even with all the chaos, it was just, it felt good.”

Carol breathed, kissed Therese’s neck again, her hair. It wasn’t a connection to God that Therese wanted, it was connection with those around her, and those who weren’t there anymore.

“It’s foolish, isn’t it? I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Carol did make eye contact this time, tilted Therese’s head so she could look at her, kiss her. “Not foolish. Not at all. You want to feel close to her.”

Therese hummed. Carol rocked them a moment, gently.

“I want to feel close to you, too,” Therese said.

“You’ll always be close to me, always.”

“But not in that way. Not in church.”

She wasn’t asking. Carol heard no judgement, just curiosity and confusion. Her stomach still knotted. “I don’t know, darling. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just talk to me. Please?”

She remembered Therese first asking her things. Asking her if she was even allowed to ask her things. It didn’t come easy for Therese, and Carol hadn’t always made it easier. Therese had opened up. Carol had no excuse not to do the same.

“When we were apart, when I was being, treated,” she said the word disdainfully,” by all those doctors…”

She meant to go further, but even that was taxing. Therese was already tense, more alert, Carol could feel it. Therese had asked before about that time and Carol never answered, not really. She’d always brushed it off. This time she kneaded the back of Therese’s neck with one hand. To ease the tension, and to make Therese look away from her. She didn’t want those green eyes on her now.

“They had all kinds of men come talk to me. Doctors, psychologists. There was a priest, too. Or reverend, minister. I don’t know, honestly. He talked about sin and darnation and…but he was very nice about it. Very, instructive.”

“Carol…”

Therese’s voice was barely there. Carol pretended not to hear it. It’d taken her years to start. She couldn’t risk stopping.

“He said I wouldn’t see Rindy. In this life, or the next, those were the words. If I didn’t try harder, let him and God and the doctors do their work. What would that be like, he said. Not a few weeks or months or years without her, but all of eternity? How could I do that, to either of us? My whole goddamn life was falling apart, and he said the next one would too.”

Carol’s eyes were jammed shut. She felt the pressure of Therese’s hand clutching hers. Nearly painful, but grounding too.

“He gave me the address of his church, told me to come by and see him. Come to the church so God could fix me, and that priest could pray for you, too. But he made it clear that I couldn’t save you, you’d have to come to that on your own. I couldn’t save you, I couldn’t see you, I’d never see Rindy again, I was punishing all of us with my choices—”

Carol’s vision was blurred by then, with tears she’d promised never to cry in front of Therese. They blurred Therese’s form as she turned abruptly, squirming out of Carol’s hold. Therese hugged Carol hard, forcing her to lie further back against the pillows as Therese’s small weight covered her. Therese kissed her face, her mouth, over the eyes that were still betraying her. Therese was everywhere, saying Carol’s name, saying she was sorry and she didn’t know.

“Shh, shh, darling.” Carol cleared her throat, swallowed past the burn there. “There’s no reason to apologize.”

“I brought you there. I made you go there.”

“You didn’t know. Baby, you didn’t know. I’m alright. It was fine, Therese.”

“It’s not alright, it’s—”

“You were there. You were there and it couldn’t have been more different. It’s okay, Therese.”

But Therese held her just as tight. Carol was reminded of Harge and the rough, possessive hugs he’d sometimes give, especially when he’d had a few drinks. This reminded her of that, but not at all. Therese wasn’t smothering or crushing. Any possessiveness, well, Carol liked it, and it came with so much protectiveness. Therese’s hugs were everything, and Carol often thought how unfair it was that for so long there’d been no one to experience them, to deserve them.

Her heart broke for Therese again. But this time, Carol realized, Therese’s heart was breaking for _her_ , too. She’d never wanted that. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from clutching Therese back, letting Therese love her.

They were quiet awhile, just the shift of their bodies on the mattress, Therese’s lips and hands on Carol, trying to heal invisible wounds. There were soft declarations of love and nonsense words. Carol wasn’t sure who was saying what.

Finally, Therese pulled back enough to look at her properly, cup her face. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“That doesn’t mean…it’s not supposed to be like that, Carol. It’s not.”

Whether Therese meant church, faith, religion, Carol wasn’t sure. “Therese?” Carol thought of that priest or reverend, whoever he’d been. The man who was so gentle in his condemnation. The people of his church must have loved him. “Sister Alicia, do you think she’d still want you to be happy if she knew it meant being with me?”

“I don’t know,” Therese said, not right away. “I hope so. She wouldn’t want something she loved so much being used to hurt someone I love. I’d like to think…I _know_ that much.”

Therese kissed her again and tugged Carol’s head down against her shoulder and held her so tightly, and Carol let her and said nothing more about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While things in this series are planned out to a certain extent, I'm always anxious to check out prompts, or just to hear from you guys. Hit me up on Tumblr if you're so inclined.
> 
> http://cblgblog.tumblr.com/


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it guys. Thanks for your patience as I wrapped this one up. Still have plans for more of these, hopefully you guys aren’t bored yet. Comments make the author happy and the words flow faster.

**“You know, I read those SSR files. Greatest generation? You guys did some nasty stuff.”**

**“Yeah, we compromised. Sometimes in ways that made us not sleep so well. But we did it so people could be free.”**

**\- Col. Nicholas Fury, Cpt. Steven Rogers**

**"Captain America: The Winter Solider"**

**“It’s so hard getting straight answers out of people nowadays. Whatever happened to a nice cup of tea and a civilized interrogation?”**

**-Peggy Carter, Agent Carter  Season 1, Bridge and Tunnel**

 

***

“Alright, Jake, alright. Go see your mom.”

Peggy smiled as Carol passed Jacob over. “Don’t take it personally. He’s picky some days.”

“It’s fine,” Carol said, taking the chair opposite the one Peggy sat in. “Refreshing actually, a young man not falling to pieces for my attention.”

The meeting at Peggy’s home was last minute. Therese called with multiple apologies, saying she had to work late. Steve had taken Lizzie to the movies so they could spend time, just the two of them and ‘to delay the inevitable mutiny.’

And Angie was drowning in rehearsals for _Peter Pan_. No wonder she’d been less than sympathetic when Carol phoned a few days earlier.

A casual call to Peggy led to an invitation for Carol to keep her company, maybe help with the baby, and now Peggy’s smile had turned knowing. Of course Peggy would know about unwanted attention.

“What about Lizzie?” Carol asked. “Is she getting any better about him?”

Peggy snorted, very un-lady and un-Brit like. “Oh, just lately she’s infuriated by Jacob’s eyes.”

“His eyes?”

“They’re blue, like Steve’s.”

“And?”

“And, hers are blue, like Steve’s. And hers were blue first, and blue is _her_ color and _her_ daddy’s color, and this evil little monster in my arms takes absolutely _everything_ from her, and has single-handedly destroyed her life after less than a month on the planet.”

“Huh. Going that well then.”

“Steve caught her ransacking the garage looking for an old box to put him in. The latest is that he’s not actually her brother. _Her_ brother was swapped out under our noses. This one is a very tiny Communist sent to spy on us. She wants to ship him back to Russia.”

“Communist spy. Sounds like she’s been listening to too many of your stories.”

“No comment.”

Carol didn’t mean for the issue to come up again, but Peggy had given her free access to what liquor they had, which was always plenty. A fire in the grate kept the December wind blowing outside an afterthought, and the alcohol warmed Carol’s body and loosened her tongue. And soon enough she was asking Peggy her views on things she’d never much cared about before.

“I was raised Anglican,” Peggy said with a shrug. “Christmas and Easter services, not much more. Steve’s a good Irish Catholic lad. Angie’s always had a rosary somewhere, wherever she lived. Different names for faiths that are fairly close together. Steve and Angie go to church every Sunday. Lizzie can’t sit still for that long without becoming worse than her uncle Pietro, so we stay in together, laze about.”

“And the way you live, no one’s ever caused trouble about it?”

“We switched churches when Angie got pregnant. From everything I’ve seen and heard, this one’s lovely. We wouldn’t be there otherwise.”

“But you never go?”

“I go when it would be rude not to, or if Steve or Angie make a point of asking me.”

She said it calmly, mildly. She was not like Carol then. “You don’t mind going?” Carol asked anyway.

“I don’t. Nor do I get the same things from it that Steve and Angie do.”

“So you don’t, believe?”

“Not in any sort of specific way, no.”

“What does that mean?”

"It means there may indeed be a God, but we're no closer to understanding what He wants than a toddler is to mastering nuclear fusion. I can't claim to understand Hs reasons or motives, nor can I point to anything in the world as His direct doing so..." Peggy half shrugged again, Jacob made a small noise. "They believe more strongly in divine intervention than I. Last week trigger a sudden interest?”

“Something like that,” Carol said, sipping from and hiding behind her drink.

Peggy hummed. “It’s a nice thought, that there’s reason in the madness. But I’ve seen too much madness to be sure. Some days I wish that weren’t true. Steve and I saw the same horrors and his faith never wavered, I…I heard him crash a plane to save the world, because no one else would do it. There was no higher being to save us then, just Steve. I thought he was dead. I hoped that he was with Barnes, with his parents, somewhere. I hoped, but I could never convince myself. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t a damn hypocrite. I thanked every version of God I could think of when Howard found him, when he woke up. As much as he’d earned a rest, an end to the fight, somewhere else, I wanted him with me more. Selfish and hypocritical.”

“Neither of those, not at all.”

“Well. It felt selfish at the time, when I had Angie and Steve was a stranger to her. Remind me to tell you about the nightmare of negotiating sleeping arrangements sometime. Not when I’m sober though.”

Carol laughed and promised and then Peggy sat forward a bit without jostling the baby, asked Carol if there was something else on her mind.

And Carol told her. Not about Sister Alicia, Sister Alicia was Therese’s to share or not, but the rest, what she’d said to Therese. It was easier the second time, telling Peggy instead of Therese. She still hid too much behind her drink and didn’t have enough of it left when she was finished.

“But she understood,” Peggy said softly.  “She’s stopped pushing you on it.”

“I don’t want to be pushed. I don’t,” Carol knotted her fingers together. Her stomach was woozy, not from the drink “She shouldn’t have to push. It’s important to her. I’ve never…if something was truly important to her, I’ve never denied it to her.”

“Your comfort is more important to her. She’s said as much. Haven’t I already spoken to you about respecting her choices?”

“You don’t believe the way Angie and Steve do. You still go for them, when they ask.”

“It doesn’t hurt me the same way it hurts you. If it did, they wouldn’t ask.”

“It shouldn’t be like this, it shouldn’t affect me this much.”

“Why shouldn’t it?”

“I wasn’t in one of those asylums.” The places Therese feared so much, that Harge had reminded her of during that last, worst screaming match.

“And?”

“And, I wasn’t hurt. There was no starvation or, or electricity shot through me. It was all just, just men with diplomas and nice offices, and talking.”

“And?” Peggy repeated. “You think men in nice rooms with diplomas can’t do the same damage, or worse?”

Carol stared, didn’t speak.

“Don’t compare it that way. Diminish it. That kind of measurement is a men’s game, and it’s rubbish. I saw horror, pain, so much of it. You’d think you’d seen the worst, during the war, and then you’d find something else, a new low. There will always be a new low, something worse.”

“That’s different,” Carol said, fighting the urge to drain what remained of her drink. She’d need to make it last, she thought, if this kept going.

"Carol...what exactly do you think torture and interrogation are?"

Carol looked up from her drink then, imitating one of Peggy’s half-shrugs. “Bats, broken fingers, good cop/bad cop?” When Peggy looked at her with that intensity, it was hard not to feel she was being tested. Her answers, gleaned from gangster films, mostly, felt inadequate.

The edges of Peggy’s lips pulled in an odd smile. “If you asked Jack Thompson, sure.”

Carol had learned not to ask when Peggy referenced people she’d never heard of. If she wanted those around her to know more, she would explain. If not, there would be a casual subject change or, at worst, a remark about classification or clearance levels.

“Harge said the Japs were monstrous about it,” Carol offered, then thought of Morita and his family and felt a pang of guilt. Not that Harge wouldn’t have had worse names. He’d gone to the Pacific and come back different. Millions of small changes that piled up over the years, that broke them apart, eroded them in stages. The Pacific was just one of the earliest, one of the worst.

"Yes, I've heard that as well. That's why they received little good information, and even less cooperation. Hurting people is not as effective in gaining information as one would think. It makes them cringe like an animal, if broken enough, and like an animal they'll respond with desperation, telling you anything you want to know to make you happy, so that pain will stop."

"They'll tell you what you want to hear, that's a good thing."

"No, because they're saying what they think you want to hear, not what they know. Not the truth.”

“Then what’s the alternative?”

"You make yourself their advocate. You keep them off-guard. A friendly smile, a cup of tea, convince them you're trying to help them. You can help them, keep them safe, get them what they need, but only if they can help you in return. You'd really love to help them, can't they help you do that? You'd love to keep terrible, awful things from happening to them, but your hands are tied if they can't give any more information. You'd love to keep them from being sent to the place their unit’s told horror stories about, but if they can't help you out with even the smallest thing, it can't happen. More stories are told over cups of tea and more information given because you smiled than can ever be gleamed from beatings, proper torture."

Carol swallowed hard, felt her palms going damp.

Peggy wore another small, mirthless smile. “If you already know anything about them, you can convince them you know the world, every detail on them, and most times they'll go along with you, answering when you pause because they think you already know it. When a man has been starving, freezing, on a battlefield for a year, you'd be amazed what he'll do for clean clothing, a warm meal."

"They, that's what the doctors said, that they were helping me. Couldn't help me get Rindy unless I helped them."

Peggy sighed, her eyes on Jacob. "If a man will do anything for clean clothing, a warm meal, for a cup of tea or because you smiled at them, what do you suppose they'd do if you mentioned the name of their child to them? One does not have to land blows or break bones, to get information, Carol. It doesn't make what you dealt with any lesser. The scars aren’t any easier to bear.”

Carol’s vision blurred. Her heart was going too fast. She focused on the blue of Jacob’s blanket, couldn’t look at Peggy. "They had files on me, all of them. Files and notebooks and, the tapes, from the detective." So many papers they were always consulting, adding to. The scratches of their pens on the pages.

“And they knew enough that when they didn't know something they could pause and let you fill it in, because they convinced you they already knew everything and you were just confessing your sins."

Peggy said it calmly, like it was the simplest thing in the world. But not condescendingly. Carol wasn’t sure if she was comforted or frightened by how accurate it was. As if Peggy had been there, asked the questions herself.

"They knew things about Therese. Or, or said they did.  They said things about her and her childhood and I didn't even know if they were true or not." She had the truth, later, but back then she hadn’t had the time to learn Therese the way she wanted, before Harge and the detective derailed everything.

"I'm sure they did. Give me a week with a name, a location, and I could garner all sorts of interesting facts about that person."

“They threatened to bring it all out in court, humiliate her, if I pushed." Carol shook her head. It did nothing to clear her vision, quell her nausea. "No, that's not, not what they said. They said they would have to, they'd be forced. If I didn't, didn't try harder, to get better."

"If you can't tell me more than just your name, your rank and number, I'll have no choice but to let the 107th take you to Camp Fier. I just need something, anything, to show them you're trying, that you're worth keeping here, keeping away from... that. Please, let me help you." Peggy’s voice was warm and concerned. Calming, but pleading. She adjusted Jacob in her arms, switched back to a normal tone. “They'd usually have something to say then."

Carol nearly flinched. It was too real, too close. “I told myself I was protecting her. Therese. I let them say horrible things about her. That she was sick and contributing to my sickness, that she was…worse things. What they said about her, and what we had. And I agreed with it. I, I added to it. I let them write awful things about her and told myself it was for her own good. Christ, she still doesn't know that. If she ever saw those papers, what I did...she wouldn't speak to me again."

Therese, who always wanted her to talk about it, always wanted to help her heal. Therese didn’t know of the pain Carol had inflicted on her, the lies. Carol was so hurt when she found out what Therese told her colleagues about them. Yet Carol had done this. Carol was the selfish, hypocritical one in the room.

"You weren't given a choice. Trust me on this. If you hadn't complied, they would have stepped it up."

"You said torture wasn't the next step." Harge wouldn’t have let them hurt her, not like that, even at the height of his anger. If nothing else, she was his beautiful wife, his prize. He wouldn’t want that compromised.

"Physical torture, no. There are many things you can manage before you reach that point. Trust me, Carol. I...let's just say I've done more interrogations than any doctor you ever saw, and leave that point."

Whatever that was in Peggy’s voice, Carol hadn’t expected it, the sudden break in the calm.

She left it alone.

"I told them she was nothing. Harge's fault, me acting out. A replacement for Abby.” And hadn’t Therese feared that so much in the beginning, that she was nothing but that? Carol had confirmed it, put it on record. “A fling, an, an aberration. Like she was something abhorrent. They told me and then I told them. I threw her to the wolves, for what? An hour or two with Rindy, every few weeks." Carol wiped her eyes, fought the burn in her throat, the tightness in her chest.

"People have done much worse for much less. Someone will sell hundreds out, send them to death, for their child."

"I was going to give her up, give up on her. Did I ever tell you that? The only reason I fought them at that last meeting was because I saw her on the way there, from my cab. I saw her and it was like coming out of a fog and, and remembering who she really was. What we were. But I would've given her up otherwise."

"No one could blame you for that, Carol. You did what you had to do."

"She would. She asks me about that time, what happened. She thinks she wants to know, but...everyone else gave up on her, Peggy. They gave up or they left and she'd, she'd fucking hate me if she knew that I was one of them."

“You weren’t one of them. You aren’t.”

“If she’d taken a different route that day, if either of us were thirty seconds earlier or later, I would’ve been. It was luck, not strength.” She’d been so weak then, so cowardly.

"You did what you had to do to protect yourself. You were at a breaking point. They knew how to get you there.”

“Did you ever have someone who wouldn’t break?” She should’ve been stronger. For Therese, she should have been.

"I had some who were... better taken in by bribery, and deals than interrogation proper. Some who needed to see the worst we had to offer before I could break through to them. But everyone has something you can use, some way to learn all you need to know."

"Even you?" Carol’s voice was soft, as if that could mitigate the risk. And it was definitely a risk. But all Carol could think of were those ridiculous Cap cartoons, the radio show before that. Betty Carver always taken by this Nazi or that, always tied up and interrogated. Captain America always got to her before anything much could happen.

Peggy never stopped going on about the lies those programs told.

"I never... never hit a limit I couldn't tolerate, but then again I was too important to not send a rescue mission after. I know there are things I would talk for, things I'd have no choice but to speak to protect. It's only through sheer luck and fortune that those things weren't reached." Peggy’s smile was wry. "I didn’t have Angie then, or our children, I didn't have a home in the U.S., or much reason not to die proudly for my country. I had Steve, who was risking his life every day like I did, and friends who were just as ready to die, if the choice came to themselves or others. However...self-preservation is always a factor, even in the minds of soldiers and spies."

A fraction of the weight lifted from her shoulders, without disappearing. It hovered inches above, she could feel it’s closeness, threatening to break her again. "They said they were trying to help. I still don't know if any of them actually thought they were, or if they were all just bastards who liked the power."

“Would it matter? Would you hate them any less?” Peggy sighed. "Their idea of help is not always accurate. Their agenda does not fit your reality.”

“Peggy?” Carol shouldn’t ask. It was another risk, a bigger one, to both of them.

“Yes?”

"Outside of what we're... the point we're leaving, how far have you gone to get someone to talk in an interrogation."

Peggy was quiet for a moment, watching Jacob, trailing her fingers over his cheek when he let out a little whining noise. "I held a baby. We talked like normal, as I cradled their newborn, just out of reach."

Carol held very still. The alcohol threatened to come back up. Therese always said she drank too much when she was depressed.

“You see?” Peggy said very quietly, eyes on Jacob. “No matter what you think you’ve done, there’s always someone who’s done worse.”

“Peggy…”

“Do you think it matters that the boy wasn’t hurt, that he never would’ve been? That he was dangled in front of his father more literally than Rindy was dangled in front of you? Is there so much difference between a military uniform and a doctor’s coat?”

Carol drained the last of her drink.

“We’ve all…we’ve all done things we need to come to terms with, make some sort of peace with. Steve and Angie find peace in church.”

“And you?”

“I find it through them.”

They were quiet awhile. Wood crackled in the fire. Jacob made a small nonsense sound, then seemed to fall asleep.

“You might consider telling Therese,” Peggy said quietly.

“She’d hate me.”

“Rubbish,” Peggy said without raising her voice.

“She’d be angry. Hurt.”

“Maybe a few years ago she would have. She’s raised a child with you since then, she knows what that means. And whatever hurt and anger she has would be for you, not towards you.”

“I’m not…I don’t think I could do that.”

“Then don’t, if you’re not ready. You’re not forced to do anything, not anymore. But Carol.”

Carol looked at Peggy, blinked hard.

“Make peace with it, somehow. I was at war for years, I know exactly how hard that can be. But you have to find a way, sooner or later. Otherwise they’ve won a victory they don’t deserve.”

* * *

 Later, Carol found herself in bed but unable to rest. Therese’s even breathing, usually a lullaby, wasn’t enough this time.

Scooting closer to Therese, Carol ghosted her fingers over dark hair.

“Carol?”

Damn. “I’m sorry, darling. Go back to sleep.”

Therese yawned, voice heavy with exhaustion. “Are you okay? You’ve been,” she yawned again, “you’ve been funny since I got home.”

Funny. That was a word for it. “I missed you.” Her voice cracked on the last word. All those months they’d been separated, those things she’d said.

“I’m here. Carol? Are you sure you’re okay?”

Therese shifted a bit next to her, sounded more awake. Carol bit her lip in the dark. “I, I’d just like to hold you, angel. Would that be alright?”

She’d almost said something else and Therese probably knew that. But Therese was silent only a moment before saying that yes, it would be alright, it would always be alright.

* * *

 “You behave yourself, like last week, okay? No chattering on with Lizzie.”

“Okay, Mommy.”

Carol smiled, helped Rindy finish putting on her good shoes. “Listen to Uncle Steve and Aunt Angie.”

“And Mama?”

Carol’s smile widened. “And Mama. Especially Mama.”

“You’re not coming with us?”

Carol opened her mouth to speak, was distracted by Lizzie clomping down the stairs with one shoe off and the other in her hand. She jumped the last three steps, causing Angie to curse even as Lizzie landed in Steve’s arms.

“Is he going to talk a lot today?” Lizzie whined, pulling at her curls. “Why’s he always talk so slow?”

“Leave your hair alone,” Angie said as Steve put Lizzie down. “And don’t fuss. No one said you have to go.”

“Rindy’s going. And it’s no fun to stay with Mommy anymore now that Jacob stays too.”

“Well then,” Peggy said, entering from the kitchen with Jacob in her arms, “we shall eagerly await your return, Princess.”

“You’re making fun of me,” Lizzie said, pouting.

“Never.”

“Mommy, are you sure you aren’t coming?”

Rindy’s pleading, hopeful voice refocused Carol’s attention. “Not this time, snowflake. But I’ll be right here with Aunt Peggy and Jacob when you and Mama get back. And then you can tell me all about it after.”

She was half-sure that wouldn’t be enough, that Rindy would persist, ask why Carol didn’t care enough to be with them. But when Carol asked for a hug, Rindy gave it without pause, small arms tight around Carol’s neck.

“I’ll tell Jeezus you say hi, Mommy!”

Angie snorted as she passed, urging the kids to start heading for the car. Steve grabbed Lizzie’s hand and led her out, reminding her that a car seat wasn’t a torture device. As Carol stood from where she knelt with Rindy, Therese joined her. She’d stopped in the powder room, saying she needed to freshen up before church, though she was always beautiful.

“You have told her that Jesus isn’t likely to walk through the front door?” Carol asked.

“I’ve tried very hard to explain it. Really though, she’s only going because Lizzie is, and it’s something new. I doubt she’ll stick with it.”

“We’ll see,” Carol said, kissing Therese’s forehead so she wouldn’t ruin her lipstick.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?”

Carol took her hand, squeezed it.  “I’ll be right here when you’re finished.”

Therese smiled wide enough to show her dimples. She kissed Carol briefly, heedless of the lipstick.

Small victory, Carol thought as Therese shrugged into her coat and gave her a last smile before heading out the door, as Peggy asked if she wanted more coffee. A small victory that felt larger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While things in this series are planned out to a certain extent, I'm always anxious to check out prompts, or just to hear from you guys. Hit me up on Tumblr if you're so inclined.
> 
> http://cblgblog.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> While things in this series are planned out to a certain extent, I'm always anxious to check out prompts, or just to hear from you guys. Hit me up on Tumblr if you're so inclined.
> 
> http://cblgblog.tumblr.com/


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